


Red Velvet Cake

by rose_coloured



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Great British Bake Off AU, M/M, and cakes, baking au, gbbo au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_coloured/pseuds/rose_coloured
Summary: My contribution to the "Bishop Myriel Fundraiser".When Enjolras had thought about people knowing his name, he had always imagined it being because he had done something great, because he had made a change.Not because Courfeyrac had made videos and photos of him stress-baking and sent them to a TV station as an application to their baking show.





	Red Velvet Cake

When Enjolras had thought about people knowing his name, he had always imagined it being because he had done something great, because he had made a change.

Not because Courfeyrac had made videos and photos of him stress-baking and sent them to a TV station as an application to their baking show.

But sometimes life is a bitch, and that’s how he found himself in front of way too many TV cameras, in midst of a handful of seemingly very experienced bakers, determined to make this whole experience not too embarrassing.

Courfeyrac had not even looked the slightest bit sorry when he had helped him pack.

“It’s not like you have anything better to do!”, he had insisted handing Enjolras his grandmother’s handwritten recipe book.

He earned himself nothing but an unimpressed stare for that, which at least made him shut up. “Stop looking so pissed.”, Combeferre, who was not even in the room, but in their living room currently reading mountains of literature for his Master’s thesis, scolded him. It was creepy, how well Combeferre knew him. But apparently, 15 years of friendship did this to you.

“You are just waiting on getting word back from your job applications. A few days without you checking your emails every five minutes will be a relief for all of us.”

“I am not checking them that often!”, Enjolras insisted. Not really. But in his defense, there were one or two jobs he would kill for.

“You do. Jehan and I turned it into a drinking game last week.”

“Is that the reason you threw up on my plant?” He had liked that particular plant, if only because it was the only one that had lived longer than a few days.

“Yeah well, your fault, that thing was almost dead anyway.”, Courfeyrac shrugged. “I am sure you will have fun there.”

Enjolras wasn’t really that sure.

*

Two days later Enjolras found himself at the stunning location, that had been chosen for the contest. It was an old former stud farm, with amazing architecture. It fit well enough into the whole vintage-vibe the show was trying to achieve.

(Something Enjolras had always hated because in his opinion it only catered to the disgusting view of women belonging in the kitchen just like in the old days. He had only been soothed when every season so far had also featured male contestants and a jury that was likewise balanced and not losing themselves in sexist speeches.)

Today he and the other contestants were about to be briefed and to everybody’s surprise it wasn’t somebody from the channel who awaited them, but the judges themselves.

He knew them, of course, he knew them, he had watched the show often enough to know them. The four were sitting on the patio in front of the main house laughing with each other like old friends.

When all the contestants were in front of them Fantine got up to greet them. She was smiling broadly, her short blonde hair spiky on top her head, as she spoke up:

“Welcome! I am glad all of you found your way here to us. We have personally looked through your applications and I think I can speak for us all if I say we are thrilled to see your work. And try it.”, she winked at them and it drew a lighthearted if still a bit nervous, laughter from the contestants.

She was genuinely nice, everyone here was nice it was like a peaceful baking wonderland.

After her, the other judges Valjean, Zéphine, and Javert also welcomed them on the show and soon enough they were done going over all the necessary details.

Enjolras had listened to them intently, although he wasn’t really here to win, his usual ambitions wanted him to do as well as he could. Not that he cared much about any prize, he just wanted to not make a fool of himself on live television.

The rules were pretty simple: The contestants would be staying at the location if they wanted to and there would be a competition twice a week. The judges usually gave them hints, what the next competition would be about, so they could already prepare themselves. After every competition, one person had to leave the show.

It was all really simple and without much of drama and to be honest, Enjolras liked that. There usually was no hate between contestants, it was just a bunch of hobby bakers challenging themselves.

“You look a bit out of place here.”, a deep voice next to him spoke and Enjolras almost jumped in surprise. The man, who had talked to him, looked nothing like the kind of guy, who would spend his time between fudge and buttercream. Unless it was scotch maybe.

He was a bit smaller than Enjolras, and his unruly black curls and the scruff made him look more like the starving artist kind of man, not a confiseur of any kind.

Irritated Enjolras, shot back a sharp “So do you.”, feeling sorry after it had come out much more snappy then he had intended. “Sorry.”, he added after a second.

The other man only grinned, one eyebrow raised. Apparently, he wasn’t one to hold a grudge, because he held out his hand. “I’m Grantaire and I have the feeling you are one of the cooler people here.”

“Enjolras and I hope so?”, why had the last part of this sentence come out more like a question?

Enjolras felt the blush rise in his cheeks as he shook Grantaire’s hand.

*

As it turned out, Grantaire seemed to be some kind of social butterfly, because later that night Enjolras was dragged to one table in the spacious communal room, where he was introduced to the other people Grantaire had deemed ‘cool’.

The first one to greet him was Éponine, a scrawny girl with long brown hair, a rough voice, and a firm handshake. Everything about her basically screamed that she was mistrusting the people around her. But once you got her to talk, she was surprisingly open, explaining that her specialty was the ability to apparently “turn anything into delicious baked goods”.

“Learned that shit at home seems like it comes in handy after all. It also includes pot brownies.”, she said with a shrug, but later Enjolras heard from Grantaire, that she had already made plans with Musichetta to make collaborations after the competition was over. Musichetta was the complete opposite of Éponine. When she entered the room people just had to look at her, she was magnifying and very affectionate. She had ignored Enjolras outstretched hand and had hugged him shortly and firmly.

“I like you! Although you look like you live on nothing but instant noodles.”, she said looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Enjolras didn’t dare to say, how right she was. After all, he knew how to bake, but cooking was a whole other thing. Neither he nor Courfeyrac or Combeferre had ever been skilled in that field. Musichetta, as it turned out, seemed to be some kind of wedding-cake goddess.

“We are a big family, somebody is always getting married and I like to contribute something.”

The last one in their round was Bossuet, who since he had sat down at the table, had looked at Musichetta like she really was a goddess.

“I have no idea why I am even here.”, he had pointed out at some point. “I mean most things turn out fine, but I have burned down two kitchens in the last 5 years and I really really don’t want to repeat that on live television.”

He then went on to explain, how most of his baking was saved by his boyfriend, who by the way was absolutely stunning and so nice and Musichetta would definitely like him! And then he took out his phone and showed her pictures, what lead to Éponine sighing and announcing that she was heading to bed early.

And so Enjolras was left with Grantaire, who looked at Bossuet and Musichetta with a fond smile before he turned to Enjolras. “I am getting a general sense, that I am going to be sent home tomorrow already. Why are all of you so damn talented? Come one, what’s your story, golden boy?”

Enjolras grimaced at the terrible name and thought about what to say. He really didn’t feel like telling too much, so he settled on “My best friend apparently sent them videos and photos of me stress-baking while being completely sleep-deprived before my last exams.” Grantaire huffed out a laugh. “At least I am not the only one, who didn’t come here on their own initiative.”

When Enjolras gave him a quizzical look he amended: “My friend sent them videos from our stupid youtube channel. It’s a silly thing we started back in high school. We got completely hammered one night and found out, that I am apparently very entertaining when I try to bake like that. I guess the entertainment-factor must have tipped them off.”, he shrugged. “As far as I know he sent them the one, where I started a discussion with the icing on a cake, that I actually lost.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but snort at that, he was no stranger to arguing with the baked goods or kitchenware. There was something calming about a mixer not being able to talk back to you.

“But now tell me more about you.”, Grantaire said leaning back in his chair. “Unlike the rest of us, you actually look like you have a very bright future in a room that is not a kitchen. So what do you usually do?”

And now that was something Enjolras was comfortable talking about. So he told Grantaire all about the university, his degree and what he was trying to achieve with it. And yes maybe he got a bit carried away.

Maybe a not just a bit.

“… and you know it just feels so inspiring… Why are you laughing?”, Enjolras broke off telling his story. Grantaire was lying with his head on the table looking up at him with bright blue eyes and a smirk on his face.

How long had Enjolras been talking?

Shit.

He couldn’t really tell.

“That’s a really lovely tale you’ve been telling there, but let me point out one tiny flaw.”

Confused Enjolras nodded for him to go on.

“It’s just never ever going to work.”, Grantaire said nonchalantly.

When Enjolras tried to counter that, instantly ready to ask him if he hadn’t been listening, because he had just told him his plan, he added.

“Also those articles you quoted? Completely outdated.”

(Enjolras would never admit, that he had whimpered at that accusation.)

That shut him up.

For the approximately five seconds it took him to reorganize his arguments.

*

And thus they fell into a discussion, that lasted well after everybody else had gone to bed. Many of the contestants, whose names Enjolras didn’t catch had given them weirds looks. It was just when Grantaire’s phone buzzed at some point, that they actually stopped completely unaware of anything around them.

“Shit!”, Grantaire exclaimed with a horrified look on his face. Enjolras immediately understood what he meant as he checked his own phone.

It was 3 am.

He groaned and let his head fall on the table. “We have to get up at 6!” If he was honest, he had thought he could use the opportunity to finally get back a normal sleep pattern.

Grantaire chuckled and then ruffled his hair. Enjolras was too exhausted to bat his hands away. “Up you go Apollo. I bet you have survived on less than three hours of rest.”

Together they stumbled up the stairs to the rooms for the contestants. In front of their doors, they parted ways, Grantaire standing in front of number 11 and Enjolras staring at the 9, that was seemingly wobbling in front of his eyes.

God, he needed sleep.

“Oh, were neighbors? Have you seen, you can climb on the roof from our rooms.”

And with that Grantaire had closed his door and left Enjolras standing in the hallway.

*

The next morning approached way too soon and even after three cups of coffee Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was able to function. He had stayed awake one more hour, to check if his sources had really been outdated.

(They had been.)

Now all he wanted to continue yesterday’s discussion with Grantaire, but before they could exchange many words, they were dragged into the large room, in which the competition would be held.

Because, and he had to remind himself, that was what he had been here for.

Baking.

Baking, which would be broadcasted on nationwide television.

*

It was weird to bake in the spacious building, that once had been the main stable. Each of the contestants had an identical-looking workstation and cameramen were walking through the room, taking the first shots of the venue.

All the contestants were herded into the room and Enjolras noticed, that he had no chance to talk to Grantaire, before the competition and he doubted there would be much of a chance for it while they baked.

The judges greeted them shortly, introduced the rules mostly for the audience in front of the TVs and then they pronounced the first competition.

“To kick things off we want you to go back to your roots. Show us, what your goods are made off.”, Fantine said smiling kindly at the contestants. “We want you to show us a regional recipe, which is still modern and says something about you as a person. Surprise us!”

After that everything was kind of a blur. Enjolras didn’t remember much of the morning he spent in front of the oven mixing the batter and hoping that he hadn’t fucked anything up. For a few hours, he forgot about outdated sources and completely crazy arguments.

The cameramen and people around him were irritating. More than once they wanted him to talk about the recipe, or about how he had gotten into baking and it was unnerving.

Around him everyone was just as stressed, Bossuet was dropping things every few minutes, and every time he followed it up, with a string of curses, that would have to be censored for TV.

When the time was up they all staggered towards the judges, more or less exhausted. After he had gone through a few more questions about “how he thought the first competition had gone” Enjolras was finally able to flee the stuffy atmosphere of the building, while the judges were looking over their cakes.

It didn’t take him long to find Grantaire and the others sitting under a tree seemingly just as tired as he was. When he sat down between Grantaire and Éponine eyed him warily before she just let herself slump against his shoulder.

“I am dooooone.”, she exclaimed. “So done. I haven’t been this tired since… uhm… you know what I mean. Stupid people place…” She yawned.

“High school?”, Enjolras submitted and she only nodded sleepily not longer bothering to keep her eyes open.

Grantaire on his other side let himself fall back onto the grass. “Can we just not talk about baking right now? I feel like I forgot my brain in the oven. I thought this was supposed to be fun.”, he groaned.

“I know. But that dude next to me started talking shit at me after half an hour and trying to tune him out, was worse than the baking.”, Musichetta chimed in. “He was a total douche. I want to suffocate him in buttercream.”

“Please don’t say that word ever again. I already feel like throwing up, when I just have to hear it.”, Bossuet begged with a muffled voice. He was lying face down on the lawn and Enjolras was kinda sure, there were ants crawling all over him.

Bossuet didn’t care.

“Yeah, please let’s change the topic. Hey have I told you that I totally won an argument against our golden boy over here?”, Grantaire said, throwing small pieces of grass at Enjolras.

“You did not! And stop that!”, he countered.

He really hadn’t! Once Enjolras had his sources update, Grantaire would have to give in.

“Totally did, Apollo.”, Grantaire shot back, winking at him. Enjolras noticed how blue his eyes were in the bright sunlight.

“You all should have seen it.”

“Wait is that the reason you went to sleep at like 3 am?”, Éponine asked tearing leaves into small pieces.

“Why do you know when I went to bed?”

“I have the room next to you and you ran into your desk or something. You have the mouth of a fucking sailor you asshole.”, she threw the little pieces of leaves into Grantaire’s face.

That led to him chasing her around on the lawn, with the others soon joining in throwing grass and leaves at each other.

It only stopped, when Bossuet tripped over a root and ran face first into the tree.

*

They all passed the first and the second round, although Éponine had been shouting at her batter and Bossuet had fallen asleep in front of the oven.

And in their free days, Enjolras found himself around Grantaire almost constantly. They spent the days with the others lying under that tree or making a small trip to a nearby village for afternoon tea.

It was easy to fall into a routine with them, easy to be comfortable around them.

*

They also passed the next two competitions with much success. Musichetta was definitely already a favorite of the judges and Grantaire was surprising them every time.

On a rainy day Enjolras found himself over at Grantaire’s room, both of them didn’t feel like hanging out in the crowded common room. Enjolras was once more surprised how easy it was to be around Grantaire, sitting on his bed their shoulders bumping together, watching some horror movie on Netflix.

“Everything here is so peaceful and cute if I don’t see somebody die horribly I am going to turn this into a horror movie.”, Grantaire had groaned while pointing at the really cute interior design. There were a lot of pastel colors in their rooms, it was really horrible.

So while the wind was howling and the rain was pouring down on the countryside, causing roads to be closed, the two of them were huddled under the blanket watching terrible 70s horror until Enjolras fell asleep.

It was kind of perfect.

*

It was Bossuet, who had to leave them first just two competitions later.

He had for once not have bad luck. Nothing fell over, nothing almost burned, nothing was too crumbly.

“Just my luck, to have to go home, just when everything goes fine.”, he said following that up with a barking laugh.

He said goodbye, hugging them all close and kissing Musichetta on the cheek.

Enjolras was sure he had seen her wipe a tear from her eyes.

*

The next evening Enjolras was just about to get ready for bed when he heard a knock on his window.

It was Grantaire, more or less hanging upside down from the roof a crooked smile on his lips.

“What the hell? That’s dangerous!”, Enjolras exclaimed, but he still climbed onto the window sill.

“Live a little Apollo.”, Grantaire shot back and although he couldn’t see much of his face, Enjolras could basically hear him roll his eyes. He climbed after him.

“There could be shooting stars tonight.”, Grantaire said when they lay on their backs staring up at the night sky.

It was so clear out here.

No lights of the city polluting the air.

“I’ve never seen a sky like this.”, Enjolras admitted and somehow that led to Grantaire explaining the constellations to him until Enjolras let out a surprised huff.

“I think I saw a shooting star! Was that a shooting star?”

“I am pretty sure it was. Hey, you can wish for something, bring the universe on your side for winning.”

Enjolras hummed in response and before he could double-guess himself he took Grantaire’s hand into his.

Another pretty perfect night.

“You still didn’t tell me, why you of all people are baking.”, Grantaire broke the silence. His thumb was rubbing circles on the back of Enjolras’ hand.

“That sounds like I shouldn’t be baking.”, he rolled his eyes, knowing that Grantaire didn’t mean it that way.

“But I guess it was my grandmother. Her name was Rose and she was just amazing. I spent most of my childhood at her place and she taught me all she knew about baking, every time I got something right she would add the recipe to a book she made for me. I don’t have that one anymore.” His parents had thrown it away. “At some point, my parents decided, that they wanted to actually be parents and I got to live with them. Since the deemed baking unmanly, I had to get myself a new hobby. Whenever they were away I would sneak into the kitchen and practice. It felt like some kind of rebellion, probably the most boring teenage rebellion, there ever was.”

“Rebellion?”

“Yeah, I really wasn’t a fan of rules, but since I didn’t want to dye my hair or shave it off, I stuck to baking. Except for one time, there were a lot of chairs stacked on top of each other, but don’t ask me what the problem was.”

“Wow Apollo, you sound like you were really fun to be around during high school.”, Grantaire snorted.

“… Before you ask, yes I had friends. Idiot!”

Both of them huffed out a laugh.

It was so easy.

“Anyway after that incident, my parents threw away my recipe book. The one I have now is my grandmother’s. I got it after her death.”

“She would be so proud of you.”

Enjolras turned to his left, looking into Grantaire’s eyes, dark dark blue in the scarce light.

“I really hope so.”

The reassuringly soft touch of Grantaire’s lips on his was more than he could have wished upon a star.

*

After all, he maybe should have wished to win, because to the horror of the other three, Enjolras was sent home the next day.

He wasn’t mad, that he wouldn’t win after all Éponine, Musichetta, and Grantaire were part of the final four and each of them deserved to win.

But saying goodbye was hard, how should he tell Grantaire, that in his eyes this was more than a fling.

In the end, he didn’t say anything as he hugged Musichetta and Éponine goodbye and then bid his farewell to Grantaire with a kiss on the cheek.

It wasn’t until he was on the train home, that he noticed they never even exchanged phone numbers.

*

For four months Enjolras was pining. Courfeyrac had turned it into another drinking game at first, but after he had had too much one night he accepted, that it was a shit idea.

And then the season was going to be aired on TV.

All his friends met up every week to watch it together, gushing over how stupidly attractive they all looked in mittens, laughing about Bossuet’s bad luck and falling in love with Musichetta.

Enjolras didn’t join in, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at Grantaire’s face again.

So he usually fled from the flat and wandered around the city aimlessly.

He went to streets he had never been before.

Small little alleys with flower pots all over the balconies and chipped pastel paint. He wandered by flower shops with rusty watering cans on the window sills and vintage bookstores with pretty paintings on their signs.

And one night he stood in front of a patisserie.

“Pâtisserie de la Rose”.

The fake cakes in the window looked weirdly familiar, but that couldn’t be…

He briskly turned around and kept wandering.

*

When the finale aired he had no chance, Courfeyrac made sure he would watch. And if he was honest, Enjolras was curious who won in the end.

Fantine was standing in front of the two finalists.

Musichetta and Grantaire.

Pride filled Enjolras’ chest, he had known that Grantaire could do it! Both of them were amazing, this would be an interesting competition.

“My dears, it’s time for the finale. Both of you have proved that you are excellent bakers and now it’s time to see, who is the best.” She winked at them and Enjolras felt a pang of hurt in his chest. After all, there were more people than Grantaire, who he had really adored.

“For the last weeks, we have been talking about baking for different occasions, but I want you to show, that it is about more than making pretty cakes. Show me what baking can mean to people.”

She then continued to list all the rules and requirements, before she sent them to their workstations.

Seeing Grantaire work, was indeed entertaining, Enjolras had to admit. He was cursing, dancing around the mixer and chatting with Musichetta about home. Just watching him was taking all of Enjolras concentration, that it wasn’t until the presentation, that he noticed what Grantaire had been doing. When he saw it, he almost choked.

It was a red velvet cake at the base but more important was what was placed on top of it. Small chairs out of fondant were stacked on top of each other. On one side there were small books and cakes, while the other side had dark shadowy figures.

On top of the barricade, there were a rose and a golden sun.

On the screen, Grantaire was retelling his story. “It’s just… Something who is very important told me this, it is his story. It’s what baking means to him.”

It was Combeferre, who broke the silence that had fallen inside their living room. Of course, they all knew the story.

“So, did you forget to tell us something?”, he asked calmly sensing, that Enjolras must have had a reason to stay silent.

Enjolras needed to not be here and so he fled the scene.

*

The next morning Combeferre was standing in the kitchen with a coffee in his hands when Enjolras emerged from his bedroom.

“I figured out you got your heart broken, but I don’t think that’s quite right, is it?”, the look in his eyes was concerned and after all, Enjolras had enough of pining silently.

“…And yeah, I am on the train and I just then figure out, that I don’t have his number.”, Enjolras ended with a groan.

Combeferre hummed and then got up.

“Well lucky for you, I watched yesterday’s episode. So I know that Grantaire won and that he opened a small patisserie with Éponine and Musichetta. And I have the address.”

*

He ran through the streets and into smaller alleys. Flower pots on the balconies and chipped paint in pastel colors. It looked nicer during night time.

In the end, he didn’t need the slip of paper with the address written on it in Combeferre’s neat handwriting.

Enjolras knew where he was heading.

“La pâtisserie de la Rose“ was open and there were people milling around. Of course, he wasn’t the only one, who knew that the winner of the show was the owner of the shop.

He practically burst through the door looking for a glimpse of curly black hair or that laughter.

Instead, he was met with a shit-eating grin on Éponine’s face.

“Bousset pay up! I told you he would be here before 12.”, she shouted and then winked at Enjolras. “He’s in the kitchen.”

Standing in front of the door Enjolras hesitated. Should he knock or just walk in? He heard faint music coming from inside the room and before he could second-guess himself, even more, he opened the door and slipped into the room.

The kitchen was beautiful, modern but with a vintage style. But more importantly, it had Grantaire swaying along to some 70s song.

When he noticed Enjolras his face went from surprise to excitement to fear and back to happiness in about three seconds. He crossed the distance in a few strides and came to a halt in front of Enjolras, looking up at him.

“Glad you finally found it.” A smirk, but with a hint of uncertainty. Enjolras hugged him letting out a breath he didn’t know he had held.

“Glad I finally found you again.”


End file.
